She knew
by maxigrumpling
Summary: I needed to be what I am at heart. Aggressive. A hunter. The predator that lived inside me needed to be seen and heard. He needed the thrill of the hunt, the fulfillment of possession. I was a vampire hiding in a civilized mans body and I needed 'out'. This is how I chose to make that happen. Ed/Bella. One shot. Complete. Graphic lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a one shot. One chapter. A self contained story. **

**I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed getting to know my version of Edward once again. **

* * *

My first thought as I enter the club is that this is dangerous.

I'm dangerous. The situation I've put myself in is dangerous.

I don't fear it, but others should fear me in the mood I'm in.

I want the danger, I want to pull it towards me and feed from the fear around me. I'm sprung tight. A predator wound up tight and ready to unleash unholy hell on earth and I like it. It's been so long since I could let this side of my nature out.

The swirl of human scents, the crush of warm bodies and the evidence of human debauchery swamps my senses as I make my way to the bar.

I tap my rolled up hundred just once and within seconds a tattooed brunette asks me what my poison is.

"Patron, straight up," I tell her just loudly enough to be heard over the crushing beat of the techno-trance rubbish that passes for music these days.

When my drink is delivered I leave a twenty and the useless coins I've been given as change on the bar for the very appreciative hostess. I keep the glass in my hand but don't drink from it. I don't want anything in my mouth or against my lips that will detract from the pleasure I'm seeking. I want nothing to mar the taste of my own venom, for now. Instead I tip the glass slightly and allow a little of its contents to fall to the floor. The slow drip, drip, drip goes unnoticed as it joins the other puddles at my feet. Clubs are notoriously filthy places.

There isn't a square inch of available space on the dance floor and only slightly more room on the carpeted area that rings it. I scan the room and do my best to isolate any thoughts that might be relevant to me specifically, but nobody is thinking about me. I'm just another nobody in a mash of hundreds of other nobodies.

My place at the bar isn't a good one.

In order to scan the crowd I'm leaving my flank unsecured and I'm also annoying the hell out of other patrons by not moving once I have my drink.

I make my way very carefully through the crowd and take a more strategic position at the rear of the enormous room. I need to brush against a myriad of bodies to get there and each of them leaves their scent on my clothing. As I reach my chosen spot I take a second to breathe deeply about myself. Arousal, alcohol and narcotics in various forms mix with makeup, deodorants and perfumes all of which combine to create a nauseating permutation of all that is human. I hate it, I want it off my person, off my clothing and out of my nose but if I leave I'll have missed my chance and that will not do.

So I stand, at the rear of the room, and watch the gyrations of the human bodies and listen to the thoughts of those humans as they seek. And each of them is seeking. Something. Variations on the usual themes. Sex, acceptance, popularity and most strangely of all companionship.

They won't find those things here and yet they congregate here, and in other clubs, every night of every week of every year and have done so since before the last century began. Long before I was born and long before I was created anew.

The women have dressed provocatively and yet they scowl and mentally curse when they are ogled. The men have dressed in their best night attire and have drenched themselves in all manner of colognes to mask the smells of their daytime hours spent at various industries. Almost all have shaved and some have shaved more than just their faces in readiness for what this night might bring them.

Groups laugh and joke, talk and tease all around the room. Girls stand within groups of other girls and do their best to surreptitiously rate their chances amongst their group and others. Men stand with other men and sip their drinks, one ear on the conversation, and one eye on the women in the club.

Scoring systems for attractiveness are being enacted within almost every group. I've scored quite highly amongst the groups of women I've been noticed by. None will approach me for they sense the danger I exude from my very pores, but they score me none the less. The men see me as a threat and not just to themselves but also with regard to their ability to attract a female with me in the room. I bother the men, I attract the females. Neither the males nor the females will approach me though. Not in the state I'm in tonight anyway.

On another night, perhaps.

On a night I'm not so predatory maybe. But tonight I don't want their company. Tonight I'm allowing small wafts of my venom to float out of my mouth and across my lips as humans pass me by. Anyone with even a passing or fleeting interest in me who comes by me gets one whiff of it and they move right along without pausing, just the way I want it to be.

The thoughts of those in the club are nothing new. There is nothing that excites me being played out in any mind in the vicinity. The thoughts could be those of any of a million other humans I've had the displeasure of 'hearing' for a century. 'Will she want me' 'Will he respect me in the morning' 'I hate her' 'I hate him' 'I'm lonely' 'I'm drunk' 'I'm high'...the answers are quite usually exactly what would be expected and I've long since given up wanting to know those answers for myself.

No she doesn't really want you but in the absence of a better offer you'll do. Of course he won't respect you in the morning; you're going to blow him on the first date, in his car, in the parking lot. He won't even remember your name, sweetheart, I want to shout. She hates you too. You don't hate him but you want your friends to think you hate him because he's your ex and you think you should. You're lonely because your expectations of others are too high/low. Yes, you're very drunk and now would be a fine time to go outside and flag down a taxi because you're about to puke on his shoes. Yes, you're high and bowed to peer pressure to get high because you crave acceptance from all the wrong people. No, offering yourself to him won't make you popular or him respected. The diseases he carries aren't going to be disclosed before you close the deal. Yes the scar by his ear is from a covert facelift that hasn't given him better self esteem like it was supposed to.

Humans. Simplistic in their desires and highly destructive in their attempts to achieve those desires.

I've seen and heard it all before both verbally and mentally. None of it interests me. The petty games played by the women bore me and the posturing of the men disgusts me.

So why am I here you ask?

I'm waiting for a woman.

Does that put me in the 'male posturing' category? Possible.

Do I intend to posture to get myself a woman? Definitely not. I don't need to. I've never needed to. I won't lie to get one and I won't connive, scheme or conspire to get one to do what I want either.

But then I'm not waiting for just any ordinary woman either.

I'm waiting for a woman who isn't frightened of me, who doesn't cower if I go too far – and I will, I always do. I want a woman who will rise to her toes and take me on. I want a woman who will see past the blackness of my eyes and look into the very heart of me.

And like the humans around me I want her to be attracted to me. I want her to notice me. I want my appearance to please her, my mannerisms to delight her and my dangerous nature to excite her.

I'm too early yet though.

The type of woman I'm waiting for won't be here yet. She'll come later. Perhaps straight from her work, perhaps from dinner with friends or family. She'll transform herself from the straight-laced, respectably dressed 'lady' society thinks she is and she'll come to this club tonight dressed as the wanton, pleasure seeking vixen she is underneath all that.

Not for me are the giggling, alcohol addled girls who are here now. No. I want a woman. I want a woman who knows she's all woman and who knows what she wants from a man. I want a woman who her mother would never suspect of doing – and enjoying – the depraved acts she'll do with me when I lead her away from this club.

I want a woman who won't balk when I tear her clothing from her.

I want a woman who won't play coy when I force her to her knees.

I want a woman who will stare up at me from beneath her lashes as she takes me into her mouth.

I want a woman who knows her body and wants me to learn her every curve in the hours we have available.

I want a woman who refuses to leave my company until she's taken from me what she wants, what she needs, what she craves.

Those types of women aren't in the club yet.

They come later. After the work groups have gone home after seeing the Janes and the Andrews off on their holidays. They come after the Johns and the Jeff's have left to take their nerdy friend Gavin to his first strip joint. They arrive after the Nicole's and the Nancy's need to get home to their cats and they come well after the Stevens and the Mikes go home to their Xbox's and their internet porn after 'striking out'.

I like to come early though. I like to watch the groups, as inane as that can be. I like to make bets with myself who will pair off with whom. I like to watch the girlfriends arrive at ten to drag their boyfriends home by the ear with a scowl and the threat of celibacy if they 'don't come home right this second, Peter'. I like to watch the boyfriends and jealous exes front up to the new potentials and fight for their women. I like it best when they lose. I'm a sadist like that. The exes are usually exes for a reason anyway.

I like to watch the Debbie's fight with the Sandra's over the one non-Neanderthal specimen who isn't too drunk to dance with them. I like to listen to the thoughts of the mousy girls who've agreed to be the designated driver. They invariably mentally curse the members of their groups for poor decision making, despite knowing that in a few days, when its someone else's turn to drive, they too will make those same bad choices after a rowdy round of drinks or ten.

As the clock ticks ever closer to midnight the crowd begins to inevitably thin. The office workers take their leave and explain they have early starts the next morning. The tradesmen and blue collar workers apologise to their friends and blame the boss/foreman/union rep for ending the party prematurely and the sexual predators – the human ones – choose their final targets and make their final plays.

Offers of sex, trades for drugs and empty promises are made and accepted as the groups split apart and shuffle their way to the doors. A steady trickle of 'real' players flow into the club and so begins the next round of life's game.

The game of life that humans play anyway.

I keep a steady watch on the bar knowing the woman I'm waiting for will do as I've done and take a drink to nurse while she scans the crowd for what she's needing. Once, twice and a third time I see different women do just as I've done. Take a drink, scan the crowd for anyone they know, pinpoint a good vantage point and then I watch as each of them make their way through the crowd to whatever spot they've chosen to watch from tonight.

I'm eyed once or twice by them as they pass by me and I have to hide my smirk as they size me up as a potential partner. Their whims are simple ones. Sex, money and a euphoric high that they only find as they reach for orgasm with nameless men. Sorry ladies I think as one of the last bored office girl looks my way before deciding to go home alone, I'm not on the market for the likes of you. I like my woman a little more lethal.

I know the instant I've found what I'm looking for because my cock twitches against the buttons of my jeans. I move, only slightly, to give myself more room from dull the ache I'm already feeling as I watch her move.

She's all tousled dark hair and blood red lips.

I can tell she's the one quite easily. It's as though she's been designed specifically for me. All the attributes I look for are present and accounted for.

The unmistakable sensuality in her attitude. The self confidence she exudes as she arrives alone and the way she is unbothered by having done it. The surety with which she takes in her surroundings. She radiates coolness. She isn't nervous, she's excited. She isn't uneasy to be a single, lone female on her own in a club like this in the depths of a dark night.

And then there are the physical attributes. Not as important to me, but important enough to catalogue them all the same.

The graceful curve of her neck, the sensual curve of her hip in the sinful skirt. The pert handful of her breasts and the unmistakable glint in her eye as she smiles at the bartender who slides her drink towards her. The long, long legs and the lusciousness of her ass cheeks.

She too scans the room once she has her drink of choice in her hand and shakes her head at a moron in black leather pants who hits on her within seconds of her turning to face the room.

I can't help but smile to myself as I watch her move along the outer edge of the dance floor. She's wearing a game face, just as I am, but every now and then a slight grin crosses her features. She's playing a game not unlike my own. She's hunting, as I am. She's scoping the room looking for prey, as I was. But I've found her now, I've settled on my conquest, and no other will do.

A man approaches her and with the merest shake of her head he retraces his steps and goes back to his booth and his friends.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and I need to adjust my stance once again to accommodate the arousal it's induced within me. The plump redness of her mouth is calling me and I cannot ignore her sirens song. I can't smell her from here, she's too far and there are a hundred other human scents that get between us, but I can imagine it.

Anticipation smells sweet to me. Nervous excitement even more so. Fear is a particularly distinct smell but I doubt I'd get a whiff of that from her as I watch her deny yet another 'potential' man. This one takes the brush off a little more personally than the last two but I smile as I watch her lean in to him and then watch the fear she instils bloom across his face. Whatever she's said he gets the picture loud and clear.

I imagine his dilated pupils, his breath quickening and the rush of blood to his cheeks as whatever she's said fully registers in his brain. She's not been kind or gentle. He too leaves her and heads back to his own group. Another one shot down.

Women avoid her, as men avoid me. We're threatening and not just in a predatory way.

She's as stunning to the men as I am to the women. Women loathe her on sight, this spectacular creature. They imagine her to be snobbish, unapproachable and with the body she has she's a threat to them and they know it. She'd have the choice from all the men in the club whether they're attached or not and the other women sense it and know it to be true.

I glean all this from the thoughts of the women closest to her in the club. They hate her immediately. They know nothing about her. Not a name or nationality. They've not heard her speak or had any interaction with her at all and yet they imagine her stealing their men. They imagine their men measuring them against her and they know instantly that they'll never quite stack up if the men have this woman on their minds.

But this woman, this luscious woman, either doesn't care that the women are shooting daggers at her or she doesn't see. She continues to scan the room without a seeming thought for anyone, male or female.

She finds a space for herself opposite where I'm stood leaning against a wall. Like me she seems to sip from her drink but, also like me, she's scanning the room with her eyes over its brim.

My practised air of casualness has left me now. Now I'm hungry. Ravenous in fact. And I've found my prey. If my heart beat it would be strumming so fast I'd be seeing stars. Instead my venom is flowing like a river. I have to suck it back and swallow it lest it be smelled, or its shimmering glaze be spotted by the humans. I lick my lips carefully, to hide the action, and make one last motion to simulate draining my glass.

Leaving it on a nearby table I begin my hunt proper. It's a slow progression through the space. I stop often. I stand behind other groups and beside some more as I make my way as close to her as I can without alerting her to my presence. Stealth is key. In all situations. It would never do to have your prey know you were stalking them after all.

The thrill of the hunt is now coursing through my body. I'm stiff in my trousers and my fingers itch to touch her, wherever she will let me. But even if she won't allow it I _will_ allow my digits their fill and they know it. Every inch of my skin aches for wanting her. I _need_ to feel her beneath me, above me, I _need_ to be inside her.

My skin burns for this creature as I scout around yet another group of inebriated oafs. The thoughts around me are beginning to get sluggish as the alcohol and the late hour take their toll. The minds around me are regarding what's left of the crowd. Some are resigned to be leaving alone; others are making last ditch efforts to find a welcoming body with which to couple. Not many will be successful I chuckle to myself as I steady yet another body before leaving it and taking up a position downwind of my quarry. Or as downwind as I can manage in the crush of sweaty bodies.

She's watching a couple now and I have to suck another wad of venom back over my teeth as her pupils dilate while she stares. The woman is familiar with this man. The man has been with her before. They aren't lovers in the truest sense, merely acquaintances that have failed in their quest to find 'fresh meat' before and are once again willing to settle for each other.

My prey doesn't know this as she watches them dance around each other both physically and mentally. They aren't truly sizing each other up as their bodies slam into one another to the beat of the hypnotic music. No. The sizing has been completed before.

It isn't long before they begin groping each other and I watch in fascination as my quarry stares. Far from behaving as though she's disgusted by the display I stiffen further when she licks her bottom lip.

I'm treated to a faint waft of her scent and another lake of venom coats my mouth and tongue. It's richer now, spicier as my lust and desire grows. By the time I have this woman it will be more potent again. It will grow in its strength, viscosity and the silvery sheen will become almost milky as I coat her skin with it as I have her.

But she won't be afraid of it. No. Not this woman. She'll welcome the sting as I sink my teeth into her creamy white flesh. She'll beg for more of it when I drag the flat expanse of my tongue between the lips of her sex. She'll scream for me when I nick her with the tip of just one of my razor sharp teeth. She'll writhe and buck, moan and whimper as my sinful essence enters her body.

She's aroused. I can smell it. The scent is heady and I need to adjust myself again as I take two small steps toward her. I mustn't startle her with my presence though; it will not do to have her flee before I have the chance to charm her into submission. No posturing. No lies. Just charm and luck.

I am behind her slightly as she's turned her body in towards the dance floor while she watches the couple gyrate. Her ass is magnificent, like a ripe peach and I ache to squeeze each of its globes in my fingers.

Her neck is long and slender, her hair a curtain about her shoulders.

The one hand I can see clearly is delicate. Her wrist and elbow the same creamy flawlessness I can see of her shoulder and the side of her face. Perfection. No lines or marks.

Her clothing is simple but quality. No jewellery save for the single gold band hanging from a thick gold rope around her neck. Perhaps a wedding band? Perhaps a lover's promise? No matter.

The couple are about to make their exit and I need to make my move before they do, recognising the hypnotic effect their swivelling bodies have had on my target. Before the words are spoken by the humans I take the last step between myself and the woman and inhale deeply from her hair.

She smells of anticipation and need.

She's fucking perfect.

"He's going to take her to his home and fuck her until the sun comes up," I growl softly behind her.

She stiffens minutely but doesn't turn to face me. I find this pleasing. The scent of my venom wafting across her flesh should make her afraid but it hasn't.

I allow my words to sink in a moment and use the time to draw in more of her scent. Its thickening as we stand. Her arousal is heightening and she's drawing a little more breath in and over her lips that she truly doesn't need.

Before she can comment I lean in again and touch my lips to the point of her shoulder. I lay the slightest trace of venom across her flesh and cannot help but grin smugly when she shivers ever so slightly. "He prefers to have her ride him so he can watch his cock disappear and her breasts sway with each thrust," I tell her lowly.

Another miniscule shiver punctuates her understanding and then we both watch the couple leave the dance floor and head towards the exit. When they are both out of our line of sight my quarry turns to face me for the first time.

Her eyes are dark and the blood red of her lips has deepened. Her scent is punctuated with excitement now and it's gotten spicier as time passes, just as mine has. She's magnificent. Not afraid.

"Does she want him?" my prey asks softly, barely above a whisper and I can't help but grin.

"Not him specifically, but he'll do," I tell her honestly because that's exactly what the woman was thinking as they left the club. He'd do for tonight.

She quirks an eyebrow at me and tilts her head ever so slightly while she ponders my rationale. She either accepts what I've said as truth or she's made the same assumption for herself because she doesn't question me any further. Instead she turns away from me again. I'm all at once disappointed but then instantly pleased as the gorgeous creature takes a slight step backwards, closer to me, and leans until her back is pressed to my chest.

My hands find her hips as though I've done it a thousand times. My cock aches behind the zipper of my pants and her hair washes her scent across my nose as though she knows it's what I'm seeking.

It is.

I inhale deeply once again at the flesh where her neck joins her shoulder then suck back the venom that the heady aroma has brought forth into my mouth.

"Another," she whispers as she nods towards the dance floor.

Digging my fingers into her hips I move my lips to the shell of her ear. "Another what?" I ask, but I already know what she wants. I just want her to voice it.

"There," she nods minutely to our left. "The one in the killer heels. The guy with the blue hair," she says matter of factly and I do my best to hone in on their thoughts.

The guy has both his hands on her ass as they grind together. Her head is thrown back and he's staring right down her top at the swell of her breasts. I take half a second to form the words and then I lean back down and suckle the first available flesh I come across into my mouth. My body shakes as she squirms then sighs. This woman was made for me.

"He's married," I moan into the arch of her throat. "She knows. He told her straight up but she doesn't care. He wants her nipples between his teeth. She wants his hands inside her pants. Right here."

She turns in my arms unexpectedly and that leaves my hands on her ass, just like the guy on the dance floor. It also means that my mouth is now empty of the taste of her skin. She stares at my lips; they are still parted from where they were splayed across her collarbone seconds before.

I can't read her. I have no insight into what she's thinking. Without warning she's on her toes and pressing her lips to the underside of my chin.

I can't help the inhuman growl that leaves my throat at the touch of her mouth to my skin. She doesn't flinch. She's not afraid. She's fucking perfect.

She nips at me, eliciting another growl from me, and then opens her mouth to take a little of my flesh into her mouth. Her tongue is warm and wet as she swipes it first left then right along my superheated skin.

She licks those lips as though I were an icy treat on a hot day as she settles back down onto the balls of her feet. Her eyes are blazing as they return to mine.

"You taste like rain," she murmurs.

I swipe my tongue to the roof of my mouth to refresh the memory of her taste for myself before I reply. "You taste like sin," I tell her.

Her 'hmm' is barely audible and before I know it she spins in my grasp once more and faces the dwindling sea of bodies again. "Another," she asks and I search for another pair of thoughts with which to continue our game.

I choose an unlikely couple from the throng of humans. A plump girl with a pretty face and a tall, slim man with sex on his mind.

"To your left, by the bar. She's in a red sweater, he's in the pinstriped suit," I tell my prey. I give her a moment to find the ones I mean and when she nods I tell her what they're thinking as they stand a foot apart speaking about innocuous things. "He thinks she's perfect and she's worried he thinks she's fat." I lower my voice another octave and bury my lips into her throat for just a moment while I listen to more of their conversation and their thoughts. "She has nothing to worry about because he thinks she's divine just as she is. He doesn't want today's seemingly perfect ideal of a woman, he wants a real woman with a brain and a good heart." I take a little of her sinful flesh into my mouth and suck just a little harder than I have previously and win for myself a delicious moan.

"Does she want him?" my quarry asks on the end of yet another moan.

"She does," I tell her because it's the truth. "He's mustering the courage to ask her to leave with him. Watch," I instruct and follow the slight movement of her head to watch the couple too.

The man asks her to accompany him out of the club and his smile lights up his whole face when she agrees.

"That's sweet," my prey whispers.

"It is," I agree but continue. "He wants to undress her slowly, then wear her pantyhose while he fucks her. That's why he likes his women plump, so the hose will fit him," I tell her and bury my lips in the crease of her neck once again.

"Jesus Christ," she murmurs in either disgust or outrage. Whichever it is the image I've given her isn't one that's turned her on and I'm pleased. It does nothing for me either. I don't have the legs for stockings myself.

I wait as patiently as I can for her to either ask me for 'another' or to move forward in our own little dance but instead she's fallen silent. I nip lightly at her shoulder and feel her shiver against me. "Leave with me?" I ask cautiously.

She needs to come with me willingly, at least for now. Once I've got her outside the confines of the club it won't matter to me if she's willing. But I need her to come outside of her own accord. Security insists on at least that much compliance. After that she's at my mercy.

Her hesitation is worrying and I ready myself to 'sell' the proposal to her. I spin her once again in my arms and once she's facing me I stare deep into the dark pools of her eyes. "Come away with me?" I plead simply. I'm willing to give this my all and grovel but her grin tells me I don't need to.

"Do you have a ride?" she asks breathily.

"Ride _me_," comes out of my mouth without my brains permission.

Her bark of laughter surprises and shocks me. I had intended to apologise but she grips my forearms with a little pressure from her fingertips and leans toward me so that she's pressed to my front from crotch to breastbone. "Do you want to watch yourself disappear inside me, or is it more about watching my tits sway?" she asks.

I don't allow her to retreat. Instead I pull her harder up against me, making sure she can feel my erection against her belly, and then I lower my mouth to her ear. "Both," I growl into her ear. "Come, now," I demand.

The merest nod of her head has my senses once again reeling. She gives me no time to consider how this is to be done. She reaches for my hand at her waist and tugs until it's me following her out of the club.

This isn't my usual modus operandi.

It's me who leads my prey outside.

It's me who's supposed to guide her to the dark, dirty alley at the back of the club.

It's me who drives this train.

Instead I find myself being led like a dog out of the club and I find that I like it.

I like strong women. I like women who take charge.

I like women who aren't afraid of me.

I like this woman.

She stops abruptly and I'm so lost in thought that I bump into her, stumble and its she who rights me. It's almost embarrassing.

Her soft lilting laughter rings in my ears as she steps away a little and looks me over from head to foot. I feel as though I'm being assessed and I probably am.

I drag myself up to my full height and plaster my best sheepish grin onto my mortified face.

I need to put her off her game so that I can get back into mine. The options are easy ones. Call her bluff and take back control.

I pull her hand until she stops – this time I'm ready for it and I step aside as she halts. I take one small step and put myself in front of her and in that one, simple move, I've wrestled control back from her grip. Now it's me who tugs her hand. Now it's me leading her to where I want her to be. Now it's me who'll set the scene so that I can take from her what I want and need.

From my peripheral vision I can see her scanning the alley as we move along it. There are some small security lights dotted along the walls but when the alley narrows and comes to its conclusion – leaving her nowhere to go but back the way we came in – it grows darker and darker until there is nothing but the shadowed moon above us.

I can see her perfectly. Every delicate feature is in stark relief for me. Every curve, every expression is mine to take in because I can see in the inky blackness.

Her eyes dart left and right then left again as she takes in her surroundings.

It's filthy. There is a leaking pipe that runs the height of the brickwork to her left and a slight hiss from a gas pipe above our heads. There is trash and debris from all manner of dark deeds strewn around our feet and yet I find the place strangely erotic.

It isn't a place for loving. It's a place for sin.

A shout rings out from the mouth of the alley and she startles slightly. The squeal of tyres maybe two streets away has her eyes darting to and fro again.

I give her no time to rethink her evening's choices and slide one hand into the hair at the base of her neck and the other back around her hip.

Her eyes are wide and I hope the excitement I feel she feels too. The scent of her arousal tells me she does.

I waste no time and pull her to me. I wind her hair through my fingers and pull her head back roughly. I growl, just once, and then I lower my mouth to hers.

If she was expecting soft and gentle kisses she gave no outward indication of it as I force my tongue into her mouth. She takes me almost hungrily and I cannot help but moan into her waiting mouth.

Startlingly she echoes that moan and uses her fingers to pull me harder to her using my belt loops.

_This_ was what I was looking for.

Total acquiescence.

Supplication of the highest order.

I force her to take a step backwards until her shoulders are pressed up against the brick wall. I pay no mind to whether or not she's comfortable, or if the fabric of her blouse will withstand the rough surface and protect her flesh. She'll let me know if it doesn't. I might even care if she does.

I tug her head back further so that I'm towering above her, my tongue in her mouth and my body against hers. She's got no chance to escape the confines of my body and I love that.

It's powerful. It's like a drug to me and it spurs me on to be even more bold.

I withdraw my tongue and bite her bottom lip. She takes in a harsh breath that she can only take from within me as I've closed the space between us even further. She sucks my breath into her body and shivers while I shake with the knowledge that her essence is now on my tongue.

With her pinned there I remove my hand from her hip and hold her at the small of her back. I kick her feet apart with one of mine and ball her blouse in my fist, anchoring her as I want her. She doesn't fight me but neither does she cower.

She's fucking perfect.

Just the right mix of compliant sinner and courageous fighter.

I spread her legs a little further with one more shove to her right leg and when she's slid ever so slightly down the wall I bring my thigh upwards between her legs. The heat of her core hits me instantly, as does the scent of her arousal.

I press, lightly, with my thigh until she's moaning in my mouth and then I press a little harder. Her fingers are clawing at my waist now. Her nails are digging into the seams at the side of my shirt and mine are slicing through the delicate fabric at the rear of her blouse.

The pads of my fingertips make contact with the flesh of her back and I feel another surge of ferocious power and lust come over my body and brain.

She's grinding herself down onto my thigh in a rhythmic push, pull, push motion and it drives me even more wild.

I slice her blouse a little more and then her entire back is exposed to the cool night air. She shivers and whimpers but not a word passes between us when I deny her my lips and tongue. I slip my fingernail upwards and cut through the collar of the shirt and then I pull the two halves, one side in each hand, until she's standing before me in nothing but the sheerest bra.

I involuntarily lick my lips and hear her grunt as I remove my leg from between hers to step away. It's a grunt of protest and it makes me ache even more for her.

I pull her away from the wall and take her place myself. I only give her the tiniest indication of what I want with one hand on one of her shoulders and I watch, enthralled, as she sinks to her knees before me.

She's perfect. She's silent and she's compliant.

I could just as easily have left her shirt intact and got her to her knees, but I want her exposed. Vulnerable. I want her excitement to heighten at the thought of being seen in just her bra.

Just as I'd hoped she would she stares up at me from beneath her lashes as her hands work first my belt then the fastenings on my pants. Her tongue snakes out as she frees me from within my boxer shorts and then she bites down on her bottom lip as she fists me, hard.

I don't want to break the eye contact but I have to as she strokes me firmly once, twice and then a third time. I have to push my head backwards, into the brickwork, and stifle the guttural growl that's threatening the back of my throat as she takes me into her warm, wet mouth.

Her tongue swirls around my head as she tastes me. Her lips clamp down on me as she slides forward and takes as much of me as she can inside her. I crane my neck and mentally calm myself as she sets a languorous pace.

Forward, back, a soft swirl of her tongue, forward, back and then she takes me to the hilt. Her throat convulses around me and I have to mentally steady myself to prevent my hips from jutting forward too violently.

Her eyes are closed and it just won't do. It's not what I want. I reach for her again and I place just one fingertip beneath her chin. She responds immediately and returns her eyes to mine.

I watch as I disappear into her mouth, her lips straining to take my girth. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks. She swallows around me and my hips do involuntarily jerk forwards. She grins around me and my knees buckle just slightly. She hums in the back of her throat and I come.

I give her no warning because I had no warning to give her. It overtook me and it was frantic.

I come and I come and I come and she takes it all.

I hold her roughly to me. I push myself deep into the back of her throat and hold her still while I fuck her mouth and come down her throat. She doesn't gag. She doesn't whimper. She doesn't fight me. She takes me. All of me. She swallows again and again and still I come.

Her nails dig into the backs of my thighs as I pump into her mouth and ride the last of my orgasm. Euphoria burns through me. The lust filled high pings and bounces off every nerve ending in my body before dulling only slightly as my rush recedes.

I release my hold on her head and allow her to eject me from her mouth. I tug her to her feet using a hand under each of her arms and when she's at her full height I stop any thoughts she has of speaking to me by once again plunging my tongue into her mouth.

She groans long and deep and I taste myself on her lips. I can't help but groan into her waiting mouth. It's something I've never done before but I'm not disgusted, as I thought I would be. But my ardour is growing quickly again. I'm not done, not by a long shot, and I want her again.

I manhandle her until she's once again back and shoulders to the wall. I frantically kick her feet until they are at her shoulder width and then I settle my thigh hard up against her core. She's grinding on me and I'm shifting my thigh higher, lower, retreating and advancing while our tongues fight for supremacy higher up.

I brace myself with one hand by her head and with the other I roughly pull the cup of her bra down. I palm her breast and knead it, then push its supple weight back in towards her body. I grasp it then release it alternately until its bouncing in my hand. The louder she moans, the faster she flicks her tongue over mine, the faster I grip and release. By the time she's forgotten about the dance our mouths are partaking in I'm slapping her breast quite roughly. Her nipple is rock hard and she's swaying against my leg, up then down, as her breast moves left then right.

She groans into my mouth again and it spurs me on. I pinch her nipple between my thumb and finger and shove my thigh up high into her.

She gasps into my waiting mouth and I suck in the sound hungrily.

She needs more and I'm oh so willing to give it to her.

I suck down her mewl of protest when I remove my leg and then drink in her whimper as I unceremoniously delve into her sopping wet panties. I give her no time to adjust to the coolness of my fingers. I run just the tips up between her lips then circle her clit before pinching it rhythmically in time with my fingers that encircle her nipple.

Her hands are roaming my back and shoulders now. She pulls me to her and pushes me away in time with my own ministrations. It's hypnotic. It's magnetic. I can't stop. She can't stop. She won't stop me. I won't stop.

I dip one finger inside her, the angle not quite right in our current position, but earn a deeply satisfying grunt all the same. I let her nipple go only long enough to pull her hips out further from the wall before I return to my duties at her breast.

Her moans and grunts are becoming louder, more forceful as she strives for more. More friction. More depth. More me.

Her skirt isn't restrictive but I dare not destroy it.

I range my hearing out around us and discern that we are still truly alone and have not piqued anyone's interest back here in the depths of the alley.

I shush her protest before she can give full voice to it as I withdraw both hands from her luscious body. I leave the skirt intact but tug her panties until they are pooled at her feet and then I slip just one of her feet from their confines. Her arousal is pungent while I'm on my knees at her feet and I can't help but swipe my tongue over my lips to lap at it as I rise once again to tower over her.

I drag the other bra cup down and away from her breast and deftly switch hands. I pinch her nipple with the fingers that are now coated in her own juices and slip my free hand inside her panties.

It's my prey that pulls my mouth back to hers. It's my quarry that bites my tongue as it enters her mouth. It's my willing accomplice to this sin that spreads her legs to give me better access to her sex.

The push, pull, back and forth finds its settling rhythm within seconds and then she's once again moaning into my waiting mouth.

I leave her clit and slip two fingers inside her and earn a wanton groan for my reward. I curl those fingers upwards and search for the round, rough spot I know will drive her over the edge. I find it with ease and circle it deftly. She mewls right up against my lips and I feel her knees give just slightly at the pleasure.

I allow her to break our kiss when she needs to pant but nudge and prod her to maintain the eye contact while she comes.

And come she does.

Long and hard on my fingers. Her walls spasm and her lashes flutter as she plunges headlong into the bliss of orgasm.

She isn't a screamer. She doesn't wail. She doesn't flail.

She grips me tightly with her nails about my waist. She shoves her hips towards me. She purses her lips just so and then exhales over them as the pleasure washes through her body.

And then she lifts those glorious lashes and stares at me again.

Wanton. Wanting. Fierce.

And I'm hard again.

I withdraw my fingers and grip her about the hips. I lift her off her feet and press her hard up against the wall. She needs no instruction and wraps her legs around me. I tug her skirt to expose her flesh and stare down to watch as I slide myself home.

It's her that growls this time.

It's me that whimpers.

Her heels meet behind me; her hands settle on my shoulders, my cock seats itself fully inside her and our eyes meet.

I don't miss the slight nod of her head and I begin to thrust.

She weighs nothing to me and it's easy to advance and withdraw whilst holding her steady up the wall. And still she stares me down.

There's no need for languid stroking. There's no need for kind words or gentle encouragement.

There's just a fierce and burning need to fuck her and fuck her hard.

And so I do.

I work us both into a frenzy.

I pump and plunge. She bucks and hisses. I push; she pulls me with her heels. I push her higher and tug one dusky pink nipple into my mouth. She shoves her fingers into my hair and pulls me harder to her.

She doesn't whine about the harshness of the brickwork at her back as I shove her harder and harder. She doesn't whimper as I dig my fingers into the flesh on the back of her thighs. She doesn't cringe or attempt to push me away as I lower my mouth to her breast once again and sink my teeth into her like the feral animal I am.

No.

She doesn't do any of that.

What she does do is come.

As I swipe my now milky white venom across the bite mark I feel her clench around me hard. A hoarse groan escapes her lips and her fingers claw at my shoulders as she succumbs to the pleasure of her release. She takes me. She takes all of me. She lets me have her.

And in that moment she's truly mine.

I give her a second, no more, to ride out the ripples of her orgasm and then I begin to thrust again. Harder again, if it's possible.

The rasping, grating sound of her body being shoved higher up the wall as I pound into her mixes with her breathy moans and my rough grunts as I get closer and closer to the euphoria I know will accompany another climax.

This one builds. It doesn't sneak up on me as it did while I was in her mouth. This time I can feel the telltale signals my brain and body send me and I have time to adjust my rhythm to wring it out.

I don't back off the relentless pounding that is my cock invading her glorious body but I do slow my totally unnecessary breathing. I do my best to steady the push and pull. I draw out each stroke as much as I can whilst still reaching for the ultimate release.

I grip her by the shoulders, hard. I hold her as steady as I can while I force myself into her moist depths. I stare into her now hooded eyes and beg her to stay with me. Stay connected with me. I plead with her to look into my eyes as I lose myself in her body.

And she does.

Those lashes.

She stares at me from beneath them; her head slightly tilted down because I've shoved her so high up the wall she has to almost look down on me. But she stares. As I've insisted. She stares and I feel the pressure begin to reach its peak.

She knows. She knows I'm about to lose it. And it's at this point that this ceases to be a game.

This is now at its most dangerous point.

The club was random.

The games inside it planned.

The chase, the thrill of getting her to leave with me mere child's play.

But now. Now that I can feel the heat and pressure in my balls demanding release it's not a game any longer.

This is dangerous now.

More dangerous than the hunt itself.

Now I feel the need to possess. Fully. To claim. To mark. To bite.

But she knows.

As the sting begins in my calves she grins.

As the flutter in my stomach becomes a churn she blinks languidly and cranes her neck.

As I pinch her shoulders between my fingers to signal my impending release she gives me what she knows I need.

"Say it," she hisses, her venom wafting from between her gritted teeth and floating across the space between us, igniting my lust for this woman even further.

"Yours," I hiss in reply and dig the toes of my shoes into the ground.

I'm desperate for the release but she knows me. She knows this.

She knows I won't come until the words are said and meant. She knows.

I have to look away. It's a split second. Less than a split second and not long enough for a mere human to notice. But she notices. She sees.

"Look at me," she demands now. And I comply because I know her too. I know this. "Say it," she growls, the guttural intonation clear.

"I'm yours," I comply as I buck a little faster.

The heat I'm feeling from my groin is almost painful as I stave off the release as best I can. It's a lost cause. We both know it. But the game isn't quite done. The thrill isn't complete until I bellow. It's not over, or right, until I can't help but shout what she needs to hear and I need to say.

She shifts slightly, sinking back down the wall and making me go deeper than ever and I'm done.

"Fucking say it," she hisses from between her clenched teeth and I'm done. Lost.

"I'm fucking yours," I howl as my balls give one last mighty clench and my cock explodes deep inside her. "I'm fucking yours," I whimper as my knees buckle and we slide a little down the wall. "I'm fucking yours," I whisper against the pale lusciousness of her throat as the last ripples of ecstasy course through my body.

Her fingers are in my hair then.

Her lips are at my ear.

"All mine," she chants softly as I slump and press us both against the wall for balance rather than for traction. "All mine," she croons as I get my body under control.

"All yours," I whisper in return as her lips find mine.

I'm beyond the game now. Sated and consumed by the pleasure that living within my true nature affords me.

She rights us. She pushes me slightly and gets out from underneath me, leaving me heaving gently and braced by one hand against the wall. I see her fingers dart out between my parted legs as she retrieves her panties from the ground. She balls them up and slips them into the pocket of my jeans before she tugs the pants up my thighs.

I stay there, braced against the wall, as she tugs my shirt this way and that. I drop my arm only long enough for her to take my outer shirt off my body and then I put my hand right back against the wall, as though without doing so I'd collapse. Maybe I would.

I listen as she pulls on my shirt over her bra and grin as she kicks her own ruined shirt further down into the depths of the alley.

And then she's at my feet again.

I don't try to help. I can't. And so I stand there and let her tuck me back into my boxers and then my pants. I stare down at her tiny hands as she refastens my belt but I do not speak or move. I can't.

I'm done.

She understands. Because she knows.

She knows I need this. Now and then I need this.

I need to be who and what I really am.

I need to hunt. I need to chase. I need to be aggressive. I need to let myself be what I am without impunity.

And she knows.

It's why I love her.

It's why I adore her.

It's why I'm hers.

"All yours," I whisper as she reaches for the hand I have against the wall. I curl my fingers around hers and let her lead me back out of the alley. I let her lead me out into the street, out to where the harsh overhead lights shine on the sin around us.

"Take me home, Edward," she whispers as we come to where I've parked the car.

I lead her to it and just before she's about to bend and enter the vehicle I pull her to me and kiss her hard. It's a thank you and she knows it. I can feel her grin as the kiss comes to its logical conclusion. As I step away she raises a hand to stroke my cheek. "You're welcome, darling," she says as she smiles for me.

She bends again as if to get into the car but I tug on her hand once more. I bring my hand up between us and let her see the gold band that once again adorns my finger. I bring her back to my chest insistently, kiss her quickly once more and then hold her left hand between our bodies. "Put your wedding rings back on," I tell her firmly and she grins in response.

After one-hundred and thirty-seven years together she knows me.

It's the same every time.

Every single damn time.

Because she knows me.

Because she knows what I need.

Because she loves me.

Because I love her.

Because she knows I need to be a proper vampire every now and then.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review. **


	2. Chapter 2

**As requested I've done the other side of the coin. **

**The same night, from Bella's point of view. **

* * *

He thinks he knows.

He thinks I go along with this, every now and then, for his sole benefit.

I don't. I go along with it for me as much as for him.

We have a good life together. He's worked hard to make sure I never regret becoming his and he's masterful in the ways he shows me how grateful he is that I accepted him for who and what he was all those years ago.

But he doesn't know it all. He thinks he knows. He doesn't.

He thinks I can't see the need rising in him. The need for him to stalk and plot. The desire inside him to shake off his mortal persona and just be what he is. He thinks I don't pick up on the telltale signs. But I do. I know him. At his core I know exactly who and what he is.

As I run towards the city and the club he's picked for the game I use the time in my own head to count off those signs.

The steady increase in his agitation. The slow progression of his impatience with tasks and people who never normally frustrate him. His work begins to be tedious and repetitious and he loses the ability to draw satisfaction from it. He becomes exasperated by mundane things that would never normally shake his usually unflappable nature.

But the first – always the first sign – is how he begins to resent the hunt for sustenance.

The monotony of it, the lacklustre taste and the usual satisfaction of whatever herd of animals we've chosen to live near wanes. The almost lazy way he runs toward that prey is always the first sign for me.

When he loses his enjoyment in the ordinary and very necessary hunt, I know then.

I say nothing. I do nothing. I watch, I count off the signs in my head and I wait. He'll come to me. Usually sheepishly.

He thinks I don't see. But I do.

Its then that I hide what I need from him. It's in those moments – when he's disgusted with himself for what he needs – that I hide that I need it too.

I don't need to hide it. I know that. At its heart he'll understand because I understand the same need within him. But hide it I do. For him.

If he knew I needed what he needs too the games will end and that won't do. I need the game too. I crave it. Usually as soon as I spot the signs in him my own brain and body begin to run over the possible scenarios and I begin to hunger for it too.

He thinks he knows. He thinks I do it only for him. He hates having to ask. He thinks I give in to his need grudgingly. He thinks he knows. He doesn't.

It's always the same. He'll come to me, usually in the dead of night, and sheepishly confess that he's feeling 'odd'. He'll give the same explanation that he's given for more than a century and then scuttle out of the room and leave me to 'think on it, please'.

He doesn't know shit.

In my head I've already agreed. I've already planned my outfit. I've marked my approach on a mental map and I've designed my dialogue before the 'please' at the end of his plea is uttered.

But I wait. And he thinks he knows.

A day or so later I'll approach him and 'give in' to his request. And then the game is on.

He'll set a date – no more than a day later once I've agreed – a time and place to meet and then he'll go about his every day business without another mention of it.

I love the anticipation and I know he does too.

I love how we move around each other in the hours after the games been set. We don't touch. We deprive one another of the simple pleasure of being close to ensure that the game is as real as possible, that what he sees as only _his_ need is palpable.

But it's my need too and the preliminary games we play ratchet up my desire for him just as they do the same for him. And he thinks he knows.

I drive his anticipation higher by being more forward verbally. I'm crude. Disgusting really as I taunt him for his need. All the time needing it myself. I drive his desire and his lust higher by dressing provocatively. I don't shower. We don't sweat and we don't slough skin cells but our individual scents bloom with the flush of desire and so I don't wash it away.

In the hours between his request and when he leaves – he always leaves first – I do everything I can to ensure that the scent of my arousal is at its strongest. And it tortures him.

And I love it.

I need it too.

He thinks he knows.

He's chosen well, again. The club is dark, loud and full. Perfect for what he needs. What I need.

I spot him quickly. Easily. He's distinctive as a human, unavoidable because he's vampire like me, unique because he's mine. But more than that he's impressive.

He's impressive and women notice him. It makes my blood boil but I don't worry about losing him anymore. I used to. Way back at the start when I worried I wasn't enough for him I did worry. But not for a long, long time now. He'd never stray. He'd never hurt me intentionally and he knows I'd hunt him to the ends of the earth if the thought even crossed his cavernous mind. Not that it would.

Men notice him too but it isn't the same silent appreciation the women have for him. They hate him on sight because he's flawless. Even dressed as he is in simple jeans, plain white t-shirt and a dark blue button down on top he's flawless.

What some of these men have taken hours to almost perfect he's done without trying. They've slathered on great handfuls of hair product and still not achieved the same messy coif my man is sporting, and hates.

They're wearing the same style of jeans in similar colours and yet on the humans they don't hug and caress waists and thighs like my mans do. The shirts are all the same too and yet on the humans they seem to lack, well, something. It isn't that he's wearing a fabric that's expensive because it probably isn't. It's not that he's built differently – although his musculature under the shirts is impressive – it's that he carries himself differently than the human males do.

I stand to the side of the dance floor, on the standard drink stained carpet, and watch others watching my man.

He thinks I'm watching couples as they pair off, but I'm not. I'm attempting to be stealthy, watching him. He thinks he knows.

Small groups of women are pretending not to have noticed him. They slide him sidelong glances and flutter their lashes at him. But he either doesn't see or if he does he doesn't care. It makes them at first angry and then self conscious. I pity them just the littlest bit because he's mine and I know what they're missing out on.

I know him.

I love him. I always have. From day one. From minute one if I'm pressed to be accurate. He got me. And he's mine.

I cringe when a woman – a girl really – sashays towards where he's standing on the other side of the dance floor from where I am. I can't hear their exchange, if it gets that far which it usually doesn't, because the crush of humans is thick and the music is crap and loud.

But the encounter plays out as it always does. He dismisses her either verbally – which I can't make out from watching his lips move at this distance – or he's wafted a hint of his venom across his lips and she's retreating in fear. They always do. He exudes danger in the mood he's in. He always does.

It's because he feels dangerous within himself. He's convinced he'll 'slip' and take a life if he doesn't play this game with me every now and then. I know he won't. He wouldn't. But he thinks he knows.

I'd step in way before it got to that anyway. Like he's done for me for decades.

But right now, wound tight as he is, the humans are right to be wary of him.

But even humans like a little risk. The rush of a little danger. A game that exposes them perhaps or an encounter that stirs their blood. But one look into my mans eyes, or a quick whiff of the scent that's pouring out of his body and they retreat. Beaten. Outdone.

He isn't just a little risk and the danger he exudes is real and they know it.

Walk on I mutter under my breath triumphantly when the woman goes back to her small giggling group with a shocked expression on her face.

She doesn't know why she's afraid of him, truly afraid, just that she is.

Good.

I tilt my unnecessary drink and slosh it over the edge of my glass again to keep up the illusion that I'm consuming it. I see him do the same and can't help but grin.

He's impatient. He wants the game to truly begin.

When I see him set his empty glass on a nearby table I can't help the involuntary shiver that runs through my body. He's had enough waiting. He's making his move and I'm ready. Willing. Able.

He thinks I'm not.

He thinks I _tolerate_ this about him.

He thinks I play along because it makes _him_ happy.

He thinks I am playing a role he's designed for me by mapping out this game.

I'm not.

This is me. As much as this is him, this is me.

I'm a predator too. I'm a hunter too.

I'm younger than him by almost a century but I too feel the need to let my inner feral self see the light of day now and then.

I too hide my true self in a civilized human 'suit' of my own design.

I'm a wife, mother and a teacher. I'm a woman and a daughter, an aunt and a lover and a vampire too.

And now and then I need to shed the other personas and just be the vampire.

Maybe I shouldn't need to.

Maybe I should be content to be just the other things.

Maybe I shouldn't need to hunt like this, despite the fact that my man thinks he's hunting me I'm really hunting him too. At least my brain tells me I am as I stand and watch him make his way towards me very carefully. If I don't move, if I let him come to me, my brain tells me that's my own special way of hunting him. I've drawn my prey to me and to me it's close enough to a hunt.

Unlike my man I don't try too hard to work out the reasons why I feel the way I do. I try to just embrace the need inside me and thank god that he feels it too and I can indulge this side of my nature with him.

He's downwind like a true hunter always is. I can't turn to follow his progress now so I do as he expects and turn my gaze to the dance floor. There are couples and groups of various sizes and familiarity all around and I settle my attention on one in particular.

A pair I know my man will find interesting. Perhaps not interesting for he is forced to hear their thoughts, but at the least he'll find them slightly attractive merely because they are holding my attention.

I smell him before I feel his presence near me and stifle the need to suck in a great gulp of the air that surrounds him. He's feral and I'm giddy from it.

His scent will get stronger and spicier the longer I allow this part of the game to continue. The longer I can draw it out the hotter he'll get, the wetter I'll get, the more pungent his desire will become.

I don't take my eyes off the couple as I feel him come to my back. They don't mean anything to me. I don't know them or know their stories. I don't really care if they hook up or go home alone. But this is a game and I know the rules by now.

"He's going to take her to his home and fuck her until the sun comes up," he growls just near my ear and I shudder just slightly.

I give him a moment to orient himself behind me and wait for him to speak again. He will. He can't help himself. He'll want to tell me what they're thinking. I don't need to know but he will need to tell me.

And then I feel his lips at my shoulder and shiver. This is new. He doesn't go this fast usually.

Tonight he's impatient. He's held off his need for this longer than normal and now that he's voiced that need and we're here, in the throes of the game, he's rushing.

That's ok. He thinks he knows.

"He prefers to have her ride him so he can watch his cock disappear and her breasts sway with each thrust," he says against my skin and I shiver again.

I have to think hard about what he's said. I'm distracted by his pushing the game along so fast. I backtrack in my head and realise he's telling me what the couple are thinking.

I watch the couple as they come to an agreement and then wait while they make their way to the exit. Then I turn and face my man full on.

He is feral.

His eyes are onyx black despite his having hunted on his way here.

His hair is dishevelled from running his hand through it nervously. The silvery sheen of his venom coats his lips, its already turning milky from his desire and the sight and smell of it makes my core ache.

Perhaps three seconds have passed since he last spoke but to us it's a lengthy silence. He's waiting for me to play the part he needs.

"Does she want him?" I ask breathily as he shifts on the balls of his feet. Probably to relieve a little of the pressure that his erection is causing, pressed hard up against the fly of his jeans as it is. I keep my smug grin to myself.

He tells me that the woman does indeed want the man, though his turn of phrase is less than erotic. His hoarse 'he'll do' is rasped out quickly in his haste to get the game moving. It's almost funny and I can't help but lift an eyebrow at his impatience.

Trying to slow things down, or get them back on our usual track, whichever will prolong the game for us both, I turn once again and scan the crowd. I shift slightly backward until I feel his chest to my back and allow the delicious flutter in my stomach to take me over at touching my man for the first time in a full day.

His hands find my hips and it is the most natural movement between us. He's done it thousands of times and yet it always excites me. It's possessive even though it was me who stepped backward, needing to feel him close to me.

I hear and feel him inhale deeply as my hair settles between our bodies and grin once again. Scent is important to our kind. It is the first of our senses to heighten when we're turned and it's essential on the hunt. But between mates it signals intent.

Desire, fear, hunger, anger...all these emotions are easily discernable to our kind through scent alone. Each of us has a distinctive scent and we come to rely on and require the scents of those we love to be near us almost constantly.

He'll be able to smell my desire for him as he slides his nose down the column of my throat and into the hair at the base of my neck. It will have seeped out of my skin and it would be on everything I'm wearing, including through my hair.

I grin again when I hear him swallow thickly.

His venom would be flowing freely, just as mine is. It would be thick on his tongue now. Tingling across his teeth and lips as his desire grows. If I were to taste it it would be stronger than normal. Spicier, richer and it would sting if it were to be laved across my flesh or injected into it through a bite.

I have to press my thighs together at the thought. Bite.

Such a simple word. Such a simple concept. We bite to feed. Everyone does. Human, animal or otherwise, like us. We bite to feed.

But we bite when we fuck too and it's that thought that has me clenching my thighs together for friction.

He'll bite me. He always does. He can't help it. And I want him to. I need him to. I need to feel his venom burst to life inside my mouth and then inside my body as his teeth tear their way through my steel hard skin.

"Another," I hiss, bringing our game back online.

He asks another what but I know he understands. He's back to playing his part and I remind myself to play mine.

I point out a random couple and wait the few seconds it take him to isolate their thoughts. I listen without really hearing what's going on between them. It doesn't matter to me. They are a means to an end for me. For him its part of the game.

He thinks I need it. He thinks I need to hear what other couples are thinking and feeling to be able to give him what he needs from this game. I don't.

He thinks he knows.

I'm impatient now too. His scent has strengthened again, just from listening to the desires in the thoughts of others and he's turned on even more. It's almost too much for me.

I turn in his arms and lick the underside of his jaw unexpectedly. I need to. I need his flavour in my mouth. I need to be able to press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and taste him there. That inherently spicy taste that simply means 'Edward' to my brain.

I nip, just once, lightly, unable to deny myself the pleasure of his flesh in my mouth and I have to close my eyes as he growls deep in the back of his throat.

There is more to his taste tonight. The gentle freshness of whatever part of the forest he glutted his thirst in before coming here, the dryer sheet I washed his shirts with in the laundry room at our home, and rain. The clean, fresh taste of rain. I tell him so and he doesn't hesitate to tell me that I taste of sin.

I shudder at the words.

I'm rushing again. I want this part over. I want him to lead me from here _now_. He drew out his need for this game because of life's responsibilities and we're both suffering from the need. Its months longer than he'd usually confess this need to me. And I've suffered silently along with him.

But I need this to last and he thinks he knows.

I twist again and demand 'another'.

He chooses a random couple and once again I'm silent as he tells me their story and their intentions. This time it's more interesting and I can't help but murmur how sweet the thoughts of the man are. Until my man tells me about the stocking fetish that is.

My silence this time is amusement. I don't want to ruin the vibe he's building so I stay silent.

Another nip at my shoulder and he's breathing softly into my ear and asking me to leave with him. I keep my silence and let him wonder if I'll cave that easily.

I know he'll beg.

He won't lie and he won't manipulate, but he'll beg if I hold off longer.

He asks again, his desperation evident in the timbre of his voice at my ear and I cave.

I ask if he has a ride away from here and without preamble he asks me to ride _him_.

Fuck.

I'm lost.

I bark out a laugh because I can't not. He doesn't speak this way normally. He's exactly what he appears to be, usually. Clean cut, deeply respectful, a graceful intelligent and highly moral man.

He's slipped into the persona he needs to be tonight and I decide that I will too.

He'll think it's because I'm playing the role he needs me to play.

He thinks he knows.

I pull him to me. "Do you want to watch yourself disappear inside me, or is it more about watching my tits sway?" I ask him, his mouth open and agog.

When he answers that it's both I shiver from head to toe.

He loves to watch.

His demand to 'come now' I take to mean come outside now and have to shake myself from the image of coming on his demand. I can. I have. I want to.

He's lost too. Just stood gaping at me and I know that he's lost sight of his own rules of the game. Again. He's desperate and so his usually unflappable demeanour has slipped.

I take control and take his hand. I lead us out the exit and hesitate only a second before choosing to drag him right instead of left when we hit the pavement. There'll be an alley somewhere. There's always an alley.

He'll have chosen this club because of the alley. He'll have researched it long before he confessed his need to me.

I've chosen correctly and stop at the head of said alley without warning. He runs right into the back of me!

I'm laughing because he's never like this. Never flustered. It's just not him. He's usually so in control.

I see his expression change and know that I shouldn't have laughed. This is serious to him. He needs to feel that he's driving this train. It's a big part of why he needs this.

I flatten the curve from my lips and let the mirth disappear from my eyes. He grabs my hand roughly and he's back. Tugging until I follow him into the filthy alleyway.

The hiss of a leaking gas pipe makes me look about to see what else is in the alley that could become a problem if we get too loud or he gets too destructive. Which he sometimes does.

I haven't even really looked in just one direction when he's on me. His hands pull me by the hips flush up to his groin and then his tongue is in my mouth and I can't help the indelicate moan that escapes my throat.

He sucks it down and echoes it with a moan of his own as I pull him harder to me.

He wastes no time and within half a second I'm shoved unceremoniously up against the brickwork. It creaks and the grout between the two bricks at my shoulders gives just slightly.

If I were human it would've hurt and my flesh would've torn. But I'm not human and my man doesn't care. That's ok, I don't care either.

My man pays no attention to it and forces my legs apart so he can shove his thigh up to meet my aching core.

I grind myself unashamedly onto his leg, humping like a dog in heat. I can't help it. I want him.

He bites my bottom lip and I feel his cock twitch against my thigh as he tastes my venom.

He kicks my legs apart and rips my blouse from my body, using his nails to tear through the tougher fabric seam at the collar. Another kick to my leg and I'm suspended on _his_ leg and at his mercy. Just as he wants me.

But I don't cower.

I'm not afraid.

He loves a strong woman and I'm strong.

I know what's coming next so I'm not surprised when he withdraws from me and we switch places by his design.

With his back to the wall and his feet squared to his own shoulder width he places a firm hand on my shoulder and I sink to my knees.

Taking my shirt wasn't about wanting to see my breasts. Not yet anyway. It's about power. His power over me. He wants me bare, ish. He'd want me totally naked from the waist up if there weren't so many humans passing by the opening to the alleyway. But even in his need to dominate me, to hunt me and take me, he won't expose that much of me. He'd kill if a man saw my naked breasts and we both know it. He's left me in my bra because it's just indecent enough for his needs.

It's indecent enough for my own.

And he thinks he knows.

I free him from his pants in haste. I squeeze his length hard and revel in the rasping, guttural snarl that escapes his lips. He's had to look away and I love that. His control has slipped again and I have it now.

I give it back easily. I'm content with the small pieces of control I get and so I give it back to him because I know he needs it more than I do right then. My turn will come.

I take him into my mouth and cast my eyes down on purpose.

He'll think he's taking back control when he insists I look at him. And he does. With a finger beneath my chin he raises my face until our eyes meet. And then he grins.

Arrogant, selfish and irresistible.

He's fucking perfect.

Forward, back, and then flick my tongue over the bulbous head that's invaded the back of my throat. Forward, back then suck harder. He's quivering, his knees are shaking with the effort not to come down my throat and I know from those small movements that I've got control once again.

I swallow around him. I relax the back of my throat and take all of him in until he's pushing as far back as he can go and then I swallow. The muscles in my throat clamp down on him rhythmically and he loses it so fast he's got to work hard to realise for himself that he's already coming in my mouth.

He tries. He tries hard to wrestle control back, but his brain won't catch up that fast to the workings of his body and I win.

I've made him come almost instantly and I feel so very powerful as the hot, thick streams spurt out of him and into me.

He tries again. He fists my hair and holds my head still as he thrusts into me, but it's a done deal already. This is posturing. He's already coming and there's no need to thrust. But he does it anyway. I grin around him and hum knowing it'll prolong his pleasure and I'm right.

The spurts quicken, his balls drawing up and the thick vein against my tongue begins to spasm anew.

And then he's in control again and I'm startled as he does something he's never done before.

He grabs me under my arms and pulls me up so that I'm full up against his chest again and then he shoves his tongue deep into my mouth. He's tasting himself from me and I almost come at the thought. He's never done that. I thought he'd be disgusted. But he's not. He's feral and his scent hits yet another peak as he turns me until my shoulders are once again against the brickwork.

Within seconds he's slapping at my now exposed right breast and I'm grinding myself onto his hard thigh again. I can feel myself weeping onto the fabric of his jeans and can smell myself as I near my first release.

And then his long, cool fingers are against my clit and I'm crying out into his waiting mouth. The fingers of his free hand are now torturing my other breast and I'm close. Too close and too far and I need more.

If he stops I'll cry. He won't stop. He wouldn't. He couldn't. And I can't.

He does.

Motherfucker stops.

He divests me of my panties and he's back within two seconds but he's been gone from my flesh for long enough for the fire to need stoking again.

He's expert at it. He sends me headlong into a renewed frenzy of need inside another two seconds by switching hands and smearing my own desirous juices across my other nipple while the fingers of his other hand strive to find my g-spot. He finds it. Oh fuck does he find it.

And then I'm coming.

And coming and coming and coming.

I try to maintain the eye contact he needs but can't. I pant through the mind-blowing sensations that swamp me from head to toe and do my best to return my eyes to his as the last ripples resonate within me.

He's hard again, as I knew he would be, and he lifts me so I can wrap my ankles behind his back. He thinks he's the only one of us that looks down to watch his glorious cock invade me, but he's not.

He thinks he knows.

I watch, teeth digging into my bottom lip, as the flared head of his sex parts my lips and disappears inside my heated body. We both whimper. We both growl. The hissing is now louder than the steam pipe above us.

I'm already staring at him when he looks back up. He doesn't know I've watched too. My minute nod is enough to drive him on and he begins to thrust.

He pushes me until I'm higher up the wall and my nipple is accessible to his lips. His teeth clamp down almost instantly and I doubt he realises he's done it this soon into proceedings. He's usually able to string it out, wring it out, and his bite comes later than it has tonight.

He's waited too long to confess.

I'm coming again and his now milk-white venom is a glossy coating across my breast as he withdraws his teeth and lets me ride it out to the full.

I'm not done when I recognise just how close to his next orgasm he is. The telltale signs are all there for me to interpret.

He's slipped lower, his knees are less steady. His cock has swelled slightly inside me and his eyelids are hooded, his breath a hoarse rasp.

He's begging me to look into his eyes and he doesn't know I need it too.

He's trying to temper his thrusts but he knows full well it's futile. As do I. He's gone past the point of no return and he's going to come no matter what he does to stave it off.

The game isn't complete yet though. I know what he needs.

He needs to declare himself.

He needs to make sure that I know what I am to him.

He needs to possess me not only in body but in mind as well and he needs to know that I am his as much as he is mine.

He winces at the first sting in his legs and I grin.

I know this.

I crane my neck when I feel the muscles in his stomach clench.

I grit my teeth and insist he say it.

"Yours," he hisses as the grit beneath his shoes whines as he digs in for traction.

He looks away, as I knew he would, and hiss and insist that he looks at me now. I demand he say it again and he does. But it's not enough. It's a breathy rasp and not a shout or a yell. It's nowhere near the bellow he needs to let escape and it's got not nearly enough intensity in it for what I need to hear.

"Fucking say it," I bark. He's close. So close. Maybe too close and he's not playing right. I need this. I need it. It's mine, he's mine, and I need it.

And then there it is.

His bellowed confirmation of all that I am.

He screams that he's mine as he comes inside me. He shouts that he's mine as he empties his soul into me. He shrieks and confirms that he's mine and I allow a shallow orgasm to take me over once again.

It's not as strong as the others he's given me but I'm distracted by watching him take his pleasure from his own release. He's beautiful to me all the time, no matter what he's doing. But when he comes inside me...when his brain isn't telling him to be careful, to make sure he seems human...when his brain forgets to continue the charade of our normal lives and lets him be the vampire he is he's at his most beautiful to me.

And then he's slumping against me. Breathing hard though he doesn't need to. I've got my hands in his magnificent copper mop of hair and I'm crooning against his throat that he's mine, that I'm his as his release spends its last inside him.

It's my turn now. I will control what comes next. As I always do. Because he needs me to. Because he knows.

This he knows.

I let him slip from within me and I wipe his seed from between my legs on the panties he's discarded at his feet before I tuck them into his jeans pocket. He'll want them for later.

I kick my ruined blouse further into the blackened alley and do my best to dislodge his outer shirt from his body without his knees giving out. It's happened before.

With his shirt on and the cups of my bra back in place over my breasts I take his hand and smile as he whispers another oath that 'he's mine'. I lead us away from the scene of our perceived sin and out onto the street.

The car is parked in front of the club, where he always parks.

I let him kiss me in thanks though I don't need it.

He thinks he knows.

I tell him he's welcome and let him think he knows.

I let him think I'll just get into the car and we'll drive away. But I know.

I know him.

My man.

I know what he needs now that our game is complete because I know him.

He tells me, not asks, he tells me to restore my wedding rings to my hand after he's made sure I can see his thick, gold band is safely and securely back where it belongs on his own hand. I comply with a smile and happily reposition the rings he gave me onto my hand.

There is a spring in his step as he rounds the car once I'm seated inside it.

He kisses me softly on the cheek and squeezes my hand just once before he brings his beloved car roaring to life and we make our way towards our home.

His smug grin tells me he's happy and that he's sure I've enjoyed myself despite his confession to needing this, every now and then.

But I need it too.

I need him like this.

Now and then.

Because I know that he needs to set his true nature free and I do too.

I let him think he knows.

Because I love him.

Because I need him.

Because after one-hundred and thirty-seven years together he actually does know.

He knows me.

He's mine.

I'm a vampire and he's mine.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading. **

**Please review. **


End file.
